


binaries (brighten my northern sky)

by i_feel_electric



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: A sprinkling of crack, Fluff, M/M, POV Multiple, Romance, Urban Fantasy, idk what else to tag this except that it's probably the most pg thing i've ever written, it makes sense in my head hopefully it makes sense when you read it, magic is known, minjoon - Freeform, sort of, vhope - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric/pseuds/i_feel_electric
Summary: jimin is a sorceror. taehyung is his familiar. and namjoon is the boy who threw everyone for a loop.inspired by this prompt from the shittyaus tumblr: regular people can’t see familiars but for the past hour you’ve just been staring at my shoulder looking really concerned and you’re making me and my cat extremely nervous





	1. never felt magic crazy as this

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends, old and new :) this is my first bts fic, but it was a long time coming. i love these nerds a lot and the moment finally came where i couldn't contain myself anymore. hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing <3
> 
> thanks to kyra for the cheerleading, as always. ilu.
> 
> and if anyone wants to complain about the fact that i haven't updated any of my WIPs and here i am posting a new fic in an entirely different fandom, i kindly request that you don't. life is extremely shitty rn and this is my therapy. thank you.
> 
> (fic and chapter titles are lyrics from nick drake's "northern sky". except binaries. that's just me being ridiculous \o/)

The bus lumbers over a series of potholes, then squeals to a stop, rudely jostling Taehyung from his almost-nap. He groans--or does whatever the fox equivalent of a groan is--and stretches his legs out before flopping back down on Jimin’s warm shoulder. Jimin reaches up, flicking him in the ear without looking. Taehyung viciously snaps at the retreating fingers, because Jimin is an asshole.

 

“Why are you always so mean to me?” he whines.

 

Various humans shuffle around them as they climb on and off, the bus swaying when it pulls back into traffic. Jimin turns the page of his book and cracks a tiny smile.

 

 _I’m not mean to you, you’re just a giant, furry baby_.

 

Taehyung scoffs, affronted, ears pinned back in distaste. “I’m like, five thousand years old, dude.”

 

_And yet you talk like a hyperactive frat boy._

 

“If I talk like a hyperactive...whatever, it’s because I’ve spent too much time around you and your dumb friends.”

 

_Your face is dumb._

 

“My face is fucking flawless, okay.”

 

Jimin snorts, looking around to make sure no humans are watching when he reaches up again to scratch at Taehyung’s head. He smiles and leans into the touch. “Now that’s more like it.”

 

 _Don’t get used to it_ , Jimin grumbles, letting his hand drop. Taehyung misses the attention already.

 

“I know you love me,” he sighs.

 

_Do not._

 

“Da Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt, my friend.”

 

Snapping the book shut, Jimin pinches the bridge of his nose. _Jesus, I never should’ve let you hang out with Seokjin._

 

Taehyung sniffs primly. “Seokjin is delightful. You’re just jealous that I like him more than you.”

 

 _You’re_ my _familiar, aren’t you supposed to be loyal or something?_

 

But Taehyung doesn’t answer, his fur suddenly bristling with the unpleasant sensation of being watched by someone who’s not supposed to know he exists. A quick scan of the humans around them reveals a young man across the aisle and a few seats to the left--eyebrows raised and furrowed in what Taehyung imagines to be a combination of concern for one’s sanity and why-the-fuck-is-there-a-fox-on-the-bus. He clears his throat.

 

“Uh, Jimin?”

 

Jimin hums absently, now scrolling through the messages on his phone.

 

“I’m being stared at,” he whispers.

 

_They’re probably just looking out the window._

 

“No.” Taehyung’s mouth pulls into a frown. “No that’s...definitely not what he’s doing.”

 

Because there’s a difference when someone is staring _through_ him, and he can’t imagine anyone would be all that upset about the dry cleaners they just passed. Although what does Taehyung know? Maybe this guy really hates freshly pressed shirts.

 

Lifting his head, Jimin finds the young man easily, looks him over lightning quick, and returns to his phone. He has to admit that the kid’s getting better at this.

 

 _Is he magical?_ Jimin asks, his small fingers twitching against the book in his lap, like he’s expecting the worst. Not that Taehyung blames him. They’ve been in a scuffle or two since they were Fated.

 

 _More like two dozen_ , Jimin corrects him dryly. Taehyung flicks his bushy tail and bops his charge in the face, making him sputter.

 

“What did I say about reading my thoughts?”

 

_Ugh, you got fur in my mouth, you jerk._

 

He huffs and rolls his eyes, concentrating on their surroundings instead. Taehyung doesn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, though, just the low-level crackle of life coming from every person on the bus; Jimin’s higher frequency energy, his distinct scent. Lavender and salt water and the cinnamon cookies Seokjin always made when Jimin was a boy.

 

Except there’s nothing from their strange new friend. Very curious. Curious and _exciting_.

 

“Not getting any special vibes from this one.”

 

 _Weird_ , Jimin thinks, fingers relaxing.

 

“Understatement of the millennium,” Taehyung murmurs, mostly to himself. He racks his five-thousand year old brain for a memory he might not even have; can’t remember if a non-magical human has ever been able to See without assistance or permission. It’s been decades since Taehyung didn’t have an explanation for anything and the prospect of a new discovery ripples through him like an electric current.

 

The young man seems to grasp then that the fox on the bus is actually staring back at him, his expression contorting hilariously as he ducks his head--so fast that Taehyung’s surprised it doesn’t snap right off. He chuckles. _Humans._

 

“So, do you think we should tell Hoseok?”

 

Jimin spares him an incredulous glance. _You’re asking me?_

 

“You’re still in training.” He arches one of his non-existent fox eyebrows. “Or did you forget that part?”

 

Scowling, Jimin slouches against the seat and pokes at his phone sullenly. _Then I guess we should tell Hoseok,_ he replies, the thought entering Taehyung’s mind as a reluctant mumble.

 

“A little more conviction next time, please,” Taehyung sighs.

 

But Jimin ignores him in favor of checking his Facebook feed.

 

 _What am I gonna do with you?_ he muses, watching trees blur past them and then come into focus as the bus pauses at another stop, bright city sounds pouring in through the open doors with a handful of passengers. Taehyung briefly wonders what Hoseok will even make of this situation and turns to check on their anomalous friend, jumping at the same time Jimin goes tense, because the impossibly tall and gangly manboy is standing right in front of them and _how the hell did he not notice that?_

 

The bus lurches forward. Tall and Gangly almost falls over. Jimin twirls his fingers and Taehyung follows the shimmer of magic that floats through the air to wrap around the guy’s wrist, holding him steady.

 

“Um, sorry if I startled you,” Tall and Gangly laughs in a rush. He regains his balance and all but trips into the next seat, wearing a nervous smile, twin dimples indenting his cheeks. “Is it cool if I sit here?”

 

“Not my bus,” Jimin smiles back, looking a bit shell-shocked, honestly, but Taehyung himself is ecstatic.

 

Tall and Gangly laughs again, fidgeting with the backpack in his arms and not-quite making eye contact. Taehyung squints at him. Upon closer inspection, he appears to be an average college kid--vaguely put together, but mostly just a mess. The constant repositioning of his limbs makes Taehyung think “mess” is perhaps more accurate than he realizes.

 

“So, like, I know this is probably really insensitive and that I’m about to make an ass out of myself, but are you--” Tall and Gangly stops, gesturing randomly with his giant hands and throwing them both a hesitant look. “Are you-- y’know?”

 

Taehyung almost cackles. _Oh, this is fantastic_.

 

“Am I…?” Jimin prompts. He seems anxious, the way he keeps picking at the chipped edge of his phone case, and Taehyung doesn’t know how to translate the light in his eyes.

 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” the young man asks, brows raised so high they’ve hidden themselves under the swoop of his platinum bangs.

 

Jimin nods. “I really am.”

 

Sliding a hand down his face, Tall and Gangly giggles wildly. “God, I can’t believe these words are about to come out of my mouth.”

 

“Do you want me to bite him?” Taehyung asks.

 

 _No, shut up,_ Jimin hisses at the same time Tall and Gangly goes wide-eyed and frowns.

 

“Whoa, hey, _bite_ me? That’s rude.”

 

The world itself grinds to a halt.

 

“Hold the fuck up, you can _hear_ me?” Taehyung asks, scrambling out of the gap between the seats and the window.

 

Tall and Gangly’s eyebrows collide. “Yes?”

 

He hops down onto Jimin’s lap and sticks his nose in the kid’s face. “What are you and where did you come from?” he blurts.

 

“I’m-- M-my name is Namjoon? I’m from upstate New York.”

 

A beat passes. Taehyung’s ribcage expands and contracts with each panting breath. Namjoon stares at him, stock still and totally bewildered, and Taehyung has to admit that he’s right there with him. This is fantastic _and_ crazy.

 

“Taehyung,” Jimin calls softly, fingers stroking over his tail.

 

“What?”

 

“You can unpuff.”

 

“But _what is he?_ ” Taehyung whines. If he had hands right now, he’d be tearing at his own freakin’ hair, because none of this makes any sense no matter how incredible it is.

 

“Just...ignore him,” Jimin laughs, unsteady, and drags Taehyung away from the impossible human--one hand petting his head and the other reaching out. “I’m Jimin.”

 

Namjoon looks like he’s afraid Taehyung might really bite him anyway, but reaches his own hand out despite this. Only, the instant their fingers meet, there’s this faint spark of _something_ in the air that he probably would’ve missed if he hadn’t been paying attention. If he hadn’t been looking when Jimin and Namjoon flinched ever-so-slightly at the contact before they withdrew, both of them rubbing their palms against their legs.

 

This plot, Taehyung thinks, is getting mighty thick.

 

“So, are you gonna answer my question?” Namjoon shifts in his seat, scratching at the back of his head. “Or am I just having a seriously fucked up dream?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes is the answer to your question,” Jimin clarifies, lips twitching. “The, um, the first one.”

 

“Oh,” Namjoon sighs. “That’s cool. I’ve never met a-- magical person before.”

 

Taehyung snorts. At least that sounds less stupid than sorceror. It didn’t, back in the day, but times have definitely changed.

 

Above him, Jimin hums in thought. “Really? You’ve never noticed other familiars?”

 

“Uh…” Namjoon peers up at the ceiling for a few seconds and then drops his head. “No. You’re the first. Is that-- is that weird or something?”

 

On the one hand, Taehyung is really proud of Jimin for asking the right things without his help. On the other, this is officially freaking him out.

 

“This is officially freaking me out,” he announces. Taehyung hops onto the floor, pacing the three feet of space available to him. They really, really need to talk to Hoseok.

 

“Why is he freaking out?” he hears Namjoon ask.

 

“According to magical law, you’re not supposed to be able to see him. Or hear him. Not unless he wants you to,” Jimin answers.

 

“Huh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They go quiet after that, but Taehyung hardly notices, his mind whizzing in every direction. Untapped magical abilities? Possible. Latent powers aren’t unheard of. Possession is unlikely, because he would’ve been able to smell his own kind. Maybe the kid stumbled upon some old as fuck talisman. Maybe he’s been cursed. _Shit, that doesn’t explain why I’m the only one he’s Seen._

 

Taehyung dodges a human walking down the aisle and then freezes, turning to stare at Namjoon. “Did you feel it?”

 

Namjoon frowns again, confused. “Did I feel what?”

 

“When Jimin saved your uncoordinated ass,” he retorts.

 

Jimin coughs into his fist and smiles in a way Taehyung thinks is probably mortification, and that’s also new, but now probably isn’t the time to make fun of him for it. He can do that later.

 

“Tae means the little tug on your wrist,” Jimin explains shyly.

 

At this point, he has to wonder if Namjoon’s eyebrows are going to remain permanently fused together, the look of concentration on his face so intense that it almost hurts to watch.

 

“It all happened pretty fast, but yeah, I guess I did,” Namjoon murmurs eventually. Then he exhales a dry laugh and shrugs, giving the back of his head another scratch. “I’m used to my body doing dumb things, though.”

 

“Freaking. Me. Out,” Taehyung sing-songs.

 

“Why? What does that mean?”

 

Jimin shrugs too. “I don’t know.”

 

“It means you’re giving Jimin your phone number, so we can find you once we have more information.”

 

“What.” Namjoon blinks. “I mean, right. Yeah. That’s--” He swallows another laugh. “Logical.”

 

When nothing happens in the next five seconds, just twin expressions of mild horror, Taehyung starts to wish he was in his human form, because he desperately wants to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he headbutts Jimin’s leg, which spurs him into action, and he fumbles with his phone.

 

“Here.”

 

Namjoon flashes him a timid smile. “Thanks.”

 

They’re both careful not to let their fingers touch again. And that’s _very interesting_. Even if he has no idea what it means. Taehyung figures their lives would be made a billion times easier if Namjoon came with them to meet Hoseok, but abducting people in broad daylight is a lot harder than it used to be.

 

“This must be pretty strange for you,” he hears Jimin say quietly.

 

“Life is pretty strange in general,” Namjoon murmurs in response, which makes Jimin hiccup out a laugh.

 

“True.”

 

Straightening, Namjoon hands the phone back, grin big and sunshiney.

 

“It’s not every day I get to meet a swearing fox.”

 

Taehyung sees the gears in Jimin’s brain go into overdrive the second those words leave Namjoon’s mouth and he’s quick to offer a wrench.

 

“Don’t even go there, Jimin,” he warns.

 

Jimin scowls. _He already knows you’re real, what’s the harm?_

 

_You have no idea what we’re dealing with and neither do I. Understand?_

 

The scowl melts away and Jimin nods, chastened.

 

“Can you communicate telepathically?” Namjoon asks, a note of wonder in his voice that Taehyung wants to _squish_ with his stupid fox paws when Jimin’s face illuminates and he gives another nod. “What else can you do?”

 

“Lots of things.”

 

“Jimin,” Taehyung almost growls.

 

“Chill out, Tae.” Jimin pockets his phone and scootches an inch closer to Namjoon, but still leaves space. “This counts as practical.”

 

He knows what this is and that is not it. “Practical, my left nut.”

 

Jimin isn’t listening anymore. Taehyung sighs, resigned.

 

Luckily, his charge sticks mostly to parlor tricks, not that Namjoon would know the difference, and Taehyung does his best to shield them from about thirty pairs of non-magical eyes. The thing is, it’s hard not to be at least a little self-satisfied in response to the light coming from Jimin he knows as joy. Joy when Jimin makes things levitate or rearranges the words on one of the cheesy advertisements, drawing sounds of amusement from Namjoon that Taehyung can’t not smile at. Joy when he changes the color of someone’s socks or extends his reach outside of the bus to make peaches grow from the maple tree across the street. And joy when he puts a galaxy in the palm of his hand and watches Namjoon’s face glitter back at him.

 

There’s a lot that hasn’t been discussed yet, in terms of Jimin’s future, and it kills Taehyung to watch him awkwardly flirt with the anomalous boy on the bus, because futures are often fickle things. It also kills him to break the spell, because their plans have changed for today and they need to get off at the next stop.

 

 _Jimin_.

 

He sees Jimin’s lips wilt at the corners. The galaxy swirls in on itself and disappears. Namjoon is still glittering, but Jimin has gone dark, and Taehyung vows to make it up to him later.

 

“Sorry to spoil the fun,” he says, swishing his tail, so fucking ready to get out of this tiny fur suit. “However, we’ve gotta run and I’m not sure why that rhymed, but we’ll be seeing you again in good time.”

 

Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks like he’s about to dissolve into laughter, which is great, because for a second there Taehyung kind of felt like a loser.

 

“I’ll text you,” Jimin tells him, picking his bag up from the floor as the bus squeals and slows down.

 

“Thank you, again, that--” Namjoon does laugh, dimples firmly rooted in his cheeks. “That was awesome.”

 

Jimin blushes and chews on his lip and Taehyung rolls his eyes, herding him out the back door.

 

“Stay out of trouble, kid!” he calls. Namjoon waves.

 

They shuffle off the bus and Taehyung darts as fast as he can towards the closest alley between apartment buildings, taking cover behind a dumpster so he can shift. He groans for real now, his body growing and filling out, muscles stretching over bone. As much as he likes to talk shit, Taehyung always did love being human the most.

 

Jimin groans behind him, but this is in disappointment and not relief.

 

“I hate it when you’re taller than me.”

 

Taehyung chuckles. “Life’s a bitch,” he grins and then pauses. “Well, unless you’re me, obviously.”

 

All he gets for that is a mild glare, Jimin pulling his phone out again--the pout and the glare instantly traded for a secretive smile that blooms wider with each passing second. Taehyung knows that smile.

 

“Why do you look like you ate the sun?” he asks, flexing his fingers, changing his clothes with a delicate flick of the wrist. Jimin doesn’t even look up.

 

“No reason.”

 

“Bullshit,” Taehyung replies, moving closer. “Let me see.”

 

For a minute, he thinks Jimin is going to resist, but he just heaves a sigh and shoves the phone in his face.

 

 **Namjoon the Buffoon  
** **[Sent: May 15 1:36PM]  
** I’m assuming I can’t call you  
Harry Potter

 

 **[Sent: May 15 1:37PM]  
** Absolutely not

 

 **Namjoon the Buffoon  
** **[Sent: May 15 1:37PM]  
** What about Gandalf, can I  
call you Gandalf?

 

“Did he seriously enter his contact as Namjoon the Buffoon?” Taehyung mutters.

 

Jimin scoffs. “Like I would?”

 

“Yeahhh, he’s a keeper,” he drawls, clapping Jimin on the shoulder. “C’mon, enough flirting, we’ve got a date with His Majesty.”

 

“Right now?”

 

Taehyung’s hands go straight to his hips. Sometimes he really feels like a mother hen and it’s the weirdest fucking thing.

 

“Yes, right now. We need answers, Jimin.”

 

“We always need answers,” Jimin grumbles, the pout right back where it was. “When do I actually get to _do_ anything?”

 

“Hey. Patience, okay? This is a process.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

The tone of his voice is so soft and vaguely despondent that it goes straight to Taehyung’s ancient, withered heart and he loops his arm around Jimin’s shoulder, holding him tight, rubbing his arm. Their energy mingles. He lets it ground him.

 

“Listen…” Taehyung starts, voice just as soft. “You’ve got the kind of raw talent that only comes around once every _thousand years_ , kid. What you don’t have yet, is the discipline. But we’re getting there. And I’m gonna be with you every step of the way. Even the horribly shitty steps.”

 

Jimin cracks a smile. “Okay.”

 

He squeezes him once and lets go. It’s not that Taehyung’s allergic to feelings. It’s that when he opens that door, it’s an all or nothing deal and he can’t close it, so he has to be careful with the mushy stuff. Jimin gets it. Plus they’re both a little emotionally constipated, anyway.

 

“Ready?” he asks, beaming. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, but his charge can’t muster the same brand of enthusiasm, another scowl marring his otherwise adorable face.

 

“No, this part is the worst.”

 

Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “Are you fucking kidding? This is the _best_ part.”

 

He holds out his hands and Jimin takes them, already grimacing.

 

“Why is this my life?” Jimin mumbles, clenching his eyes shut.

 

Taehyung can only throw his head back and release a delirious shriek of laughter as the fabric of reality rips away and sends them plummeting through time and space.


	2. never held emotion in the palm of my hand

Every time Taehyung drags Jimin through the ether, he swears his life flashes before his eyes.

 

It’s always snippets of third grade when he accidentally turned Frankie Wilson’s hair vomit orange after tripping on a chair leg. When he made it start snowing on their class field trip to the natural history museum, because Alex Lowell had looked at him for more than five seconds. The time he sneezed during recess and melted the jungle gym and became the pariah of his elementary school forever.

 

Okay, so, technically not his whole life. Just the parts that scarred him permanently before he learned to control the magic running through his veins.

 

Which wasn’t easy. Like,  _ at all _ . Because even though Jimin wasn’t the only freak around, it’s not like the books or the movies where there’s a special school for the magically inclined that everyone gets invited to. No secret club, no mystical castle, not even a fucking batcave. Isn’t that lame? Jimin thinks it’s lame. Or did, at least. The learning center he went to after classes most days hadn’t been the most exciting hole in the wall, but it’s where he met Seokjin and it was certainly better than nothing. Better than unintentionally hurting himself or others whenever he so much as twitched wrong. Better than never understanding why he was different.

 

Actually, Jimin still has trouble understanding that. He can conjure a tiny galaxy in the palm of his hand and probably literally move mountains, but he can’t talk to cute guys on buses who look at him like he’s more than just an oddity. Like maybe he’s the magic instead of it just being something he’s sort of good at.

 

Jimin thinks about what Taehyung said a few minutes ago and tries not to feel too overwhelmed. It’s not his fault he grew up in a microscopic, nothing town and didn’t know how far behind he was until he took his first proficiency exam. Now this? He frowns at the moss-covered ground under his feet. He probably found a way to break the laws of magic by breathing too loudly.

 

“Hey, slow poke, hurry up. I don’t even know if he’s home,” Taehyung shouts from further along the driveway.

 

Jimin sighs and walks faster. He’d be lying, though, if he said things hadn’t improved drastically since Taehyung happened.

 

“Don’t you two have some kind of direct demonic link?” he asks, falling into step with him as Hoseok’s old house appears behind a knot of even older trees.

 

“Yup. But he’s not answering.”

 

“And we’re not concerned, because…?”

 

Taehyung bounds up the front steps onto the wide porch and narrows his eyes at the door, gently running his fingers over the wood grain. Various runes appear under his touch, glow faintly, and then fade. The tense line of his shoulders softens almost immediately.

 

“Because Hoseok and I go way back and if something was wrong, I would’ve felt it,” Taehyung murmurs, giving him a brief, boxy grin. Jimin can still see the concern in the crease of his eyebrows.

 

It’s all for nothing, as it turns out, because Hoseok himself flings the door open before Taehyung can lift his hand to knock. He looks more than a little haggard in his rumpled t-shirt and boxers--red hair sticking up at weird angles, one sock mysteriously absent from his right foot.

 

“Awful timing as always, Taehyung,” Hoseok sighs.

 

Taehyung balks.

 

“Excuse me? I called and you didn’t even pick up!”

 

“Did it ever cross your pea-sized brain that there was a reason for that?” Hoseok shoots back, scowling.

 

“Well whatever kinky shit you were doing can wait,” Taehyung argues. “This is important.”

 

They stand there in the doorway staring each other down for the longest ten seconds of Jimin’s life; Taehyung defiant and Hoseok annoyed but thoughtful. He can’t decide if they’re about to start pulling each other’s hair or just make out.

 

Hoseok stares at Taehyung a little harder and must find whatever he’s searching for, because he deflates a moment later and rolls his eyes. “Everything is important.”

 

Beaming, Taehyung leans in and smacks a kiss against Hoseok’s cheek, then strolls into the house without another word. Although Jimin suspects Taehyung is still talking, judging by the ghost of pink creeping onto Hoseok’s face.

 

“Hi, Jimin.” Hoseok bobs his head awkwardly in greeting and steps aside.

 

“Hey,” Jimin blurts. He tells himself not to smile too big and not to let his foot catch the door jamb like he did last time. “Sorry, um...sorry for intruding.”

 

Hoseok pats him on the shoulder, his lips twitching wryly.

 

“Don’t sweat it. I just feel like I’ve been trying to take a nap for the last decade.”

 

He laughs. Hoseok’s smirk widens. They hear a crash in another room and now Hoseok is groaning, leaving Jimin to hover in the foyer alone.

 

“Damnit, Tae, if you broke something again I’m gonna break your neck.”

 

“It’s  _ fine _ , I’m fine!” comes Taehyung’s strained reply.

 

Jimin breathes deep, lets it out in a rush. The old house creaks around him and then the door swings shut all on its own. He can even feel the wards sealing them in. The magic woven into each particle, from the stone foundation to the flimsy weather vane perched on the roof. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and clenches his fingers, willing himself not to be nervous. Because it’s not that he doesn’t like Hoseok. It’s that Hoseok is basically a god among sorcerers and Jimin lives in fear of disappointing him.

 

Padding further into the house, he follows the sound of their bickering with caution, trying not to get distracted by all of the bizarre artifacts littering dusty bookshelves--hiding under side tables, hanging from the walls and the ceiling. There are probably more tucked away in closets and drawers and one day, Jimin’s going to ask for Hoseok’s permission to wander. One day definitely not being this day.

 

“I swear to every god you’re like a destructive toddler,” Hoseok grumbles. He’s cradling mangled pieces of silver and copper to his chest, Taehyung beside him with a hand over his mouth and eyebrows curved in guilt.

 

“I’m sorry!” Taehyung whines through his fingers. Then he quickly crosses his arms, sticking both hands into his armpits. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

 

Hoseok snorts and spares him a sharp look. “That’s a lie.”

 

Jimin knows they know he’s lingering in the study doorway, but they haven’t acknowledged him yet. He isn’t really in a hurry to be acknowledged, anyway, still dreading the conversation they’re here to have in the first place.

 

“Please don’t be mad,” Taehyung pleads, moving into Hoseok’s space and ducking down to catch his eye. “I’ll get you another one.”

 

“This is more than two thousand years old, you idiot.” Hoseok laughs once, shaking his head and meeting Taehyung’s gaze directly. “If--” he cuts himself off, chewing on his lip.

 

They fall silent, continuing the conversation in private. Jimin watches the subtle play of emotions over each of their faces until he can’t take being the invisible third wheel anymore and gently clears his throat.

 

Hoseok jumps, plastering on a grin so cheery his eyes disappear. “Right. So. You guys needed to talk?”

 

He pretends not to notice how gross they’re being and moves to sit in one of the large, overstuffed chairs that smell like lemongrass and herbs he doesn’t have names for. Taehyung leans against the edge of Hoseok’s desk, smiling in the way Jimin has categorized as his Asshole Smile. The one he uses when he’s about to gleefully throw Jimin under the bus or force him outside of his comfort zone.

 

“Actually, Jimin needed to tell you something.”

 

“What? Why me?” he protests, even though a part of him definitely saw this coming.

 

Taehyung’s eyes flash gold.

 

“Practice.”

 

_ I hate you so much right now, _ Jimin thinks, hurling the thought as aggressively as he can.

 

_ You’ll thank me later _ , Taehyung replies smoothly. He’s looking more smug by the minute.

 

Jimin scoffs out loud.

 

_ Fat chance. _

 

“Well?” Hoseok asks, glancing between the two of them, already exasperated as he drops the broken artifact onto the desk. “I can bend time, but I can’t make more, let’s hear it.”

 

_ Shit _ , he thinks to himself. Pressure builds in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety and the irrational fear of failure, but that’s stupid when all he has to do is tell Hoseok what happened.  _ Right. Because what happened isn’t totally fucked up and probably my fault. _ Jimin squirms in the chair, clutching his backpack tightly. He doesn’t predict this going very well.

 

“Um--” he starts and stops, then tries again. “So, I-- we, uh, we were on the bus, right?”

 

Hoseok’s expression doesn’t shift from blank attentiveness and Taehyung’s eyebrows are starting to furrow.  _ Come on, loser _ . _ Just unclench. _

 

“Sorry.” Jimin coughs, screwing his eyes shut. “We were on the bus, and Taehyung realized someone was watching him that shouldn’t have been able to.”

 

When he cracks his eyes open, Hoseok is still blank-faced, but his posture has changed--body tilting forward slightly in interest. That’s a good sign, isn’t it? Jimin keeps going, telling Hoseok about Namjoon approaching them, but not the way his heart had leapt into his throat like it wanted to abandon a sinking ship. Not the way his insides felt like they were disintegrating every time the strange boy opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he focuses on explaining how Namjoon had never seen a familiar before, never met anyone like them, was sensitive to magic.  _ Jimin’s _ magic. He refrains from mentioning his little display. The last thing he needs right now is a lecture on top of a lecture, this is already a big deal.

 

But all Hoseok does is stand there, mouth turned down at the corners just enough to be noticed. Jimin grips his bag tighter and attempts to prepare himself for the inevitable reprimand.

 

“You forgot one small but crucial detail,” Taehyung adds before Hoseok can say anything.

 

Jimin makes a face. “What are you talking about? No I didn’t.” If Taehyung rats him out, he’s going to--

 

Except Taehyung interrupts Jimin’s plans for revenge, amusement living in every single one of his atoms as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

 

“The spark, you nerd. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” 

 

To be honest, he thought forgetting about it had been the best course of action. Jimin stares down at his fingers, flexing them back and forth. They still tingle. Just a tiny bit.

 

“What spark?” Hoseok asks, arching a brow.

 

“When…” He draws in a calming breath and tries to figure out the best way to put this. “When we shook hands. There was a shock of electricity or something. Kind of like static, but more painful.”

 

And just like that, Hoseok’s face takes on a life of its own--lips pulling into a pucker as he falls back against the desk, clarity seeming to hit him all at once. “ _ Oh _ ,” he exhales.

 

Hoseok regards Jimin so intently that Jimin has to turn away. Wild heat prickles underneath his skin. He wills the tidal wave of anxiety into a formless puddle.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“Yes, Hoseok, why are you looking at him like that?” Taehyung asks. And then, more excitedly, “You know, don’t you.” But that’s not a question.

 

In his periphery, Hoseok offers a lazy shrug.

 

“I’m surprised you don’t, actually.”

 

“Not all of us are an omniscient pain in the ass,” Taehyung counters flatly.

 

Jimin catches Hoseok reach up to pat Taehyung’s cheek as he stands.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re halfway there.”

 

Barking with laughter, Taehyung attempts to kick Hoseok and misses by a mile. Under different circumstances, he might be more entertained by their weird, never ending mating ritual, but he’s a bit more concerned about the nervous churning in his stomach. About Hoseok’s nonchalance while he scours the bookcases for something specific, long fingers dancing over aged spines. Taehyung drifts towards Jimin to settle on the arm of the chair and squeezes his shoulder.

 

_ You’re freaking out. _

 

He tracks Hoseok and his slow migration over the shelves. The suspense is killing him, how could he  _ not _ be freaking out. Jimin sends Taehyung a mental frown.  _ So were you _ .

 

_ Yeah, but that was earlier _ , Taehyung answers simply.

 

And for him, it really is that simple. Sometimes Jimin envies Taehyung’s ease of being, because everything always rolls off of him like droplets of rain.

 

_ Do you think it’s gonna be bad? _ he asks, the thought small. Quiet.

 

_ Bad? Nah. _ Taehyung squeezes his shoulder again and grins.  _ Hoseok didn’t look like he was pissing himself. _

 

Jimin laughs slightly.  _ You’re both disgusting, by the way. _

 

Taehyung’s squawk of offense is cut short when Hoseok’s triumphant “Found it!” fills the room. He freezes immediately--breath hanging suspended in his lungs. Even Taehyung’s ever-present buzz of energy seems to taper off into a soft hum.

 

“It’s incredibly rare, but not unheard of…” Hoseok murmurs, balancing a giant tome in one hand, the other trailing over brittle, yellowed pages as he reads. “Ancient magic, blah blah, only a few cases in recorded history. Some warlocks used to think it was the same reincarnated souls meeting over and over again, but nothing’s been proven. My first mentor had a few theories that were really interesting, now that I think about it, she--”

 

“Hoseok,” Taehyung interjects.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“Get to the point.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Hoseok snaps the tome shut and looks up, smiling. “He’s your soulmate.”

 

Jimin’s sense of reality folds in on itself.

 

“My what?” he asks. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears.

 

“Soulmate,” Hoseok repeats, hand weaving blithely through the air. “Y’know, meant for each other? Written in the heavens. The red string of Fate, all that good shit.”

 

“Oh my god,  _ this is so cool _ ,” Taehyung gushes.

 

In the next moment, Jimin feels his heart seize in his chest--once, twice--then a surge of panic floods his body and the oriental rug in the middle of the floor bursts into flames.

 

“Sorry!” he cries, leaping out of the chair. Hoseok extinguishes the fire almost as soon as it starts, but the rug is already singed black beyond repair. Jimin worries that it could’ve been another antique. Something irreplaceable and priceless. A second avalanche of panic threatens to crash into him. “I’m--  _ God _ , I’m so sorry.”

 

The only thing he can do is run so he doesn’t inflict any further damage, leaving them both wide-eyed and speechless, blindly finding his way outside onto the porch.

 

His ears are ringing, body thrumming from the unexpected magical outburst. Jimin walks laps around the house until he can form a thought that doesn’t involve the words  _ idiot _ and  _ worthless _ . Although it’s easier to beat himself up for his lack of control than think about the fact that he has a fucking  _ soulmate _ . How the hell is that even real, anyway?

 

Releasing a frustrated huff, he stops halfway through a loop and plops down on the edge of the platform. Jimin stares out at the old, gnarled forest. It’s been twenty-one years of struggling to accept his powers, how is he supposed to accept this?

 

The house creaks. A breeze groans through the trees. He senses Taehyung’s approach before his thick-soled boots hit the wooden planks. 

 

Jimin doesn’t say anything when his friend and familiar sits down beside him, arm and leg pressed against his own. Taehyung doesn’t say anything, either, just radiates tranquility. Radiates heat and the kind of intimacy Jimin didn’t realize he’d always wanted until Taehyung suddenly existed. His teacher, his protector, his confidante. He supposes that’s a version of soulmate. A sliver of something Jimin isn’t prepared to unravel.

 

He lifts his hand, fingers swaying. Jimin idly reconstructs constellations from memory and lets them hang in the air--pinpricks of light that shimmer and glow. He used to do this whenever he couldn’t sleep, because it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t everything else.

 

Taehyung nudges into him. “You’re really good at that.”

 

“It’s not that hard,” he mumbles.

 

“That’s what I mean,” Taehyung insists. “You make it all look so easy.”

 

Jimin barely restrains the urge to roll his eyes.

 

“Stop trying to make me feel better about setting Hoseok’s rug on fire.”

 

“He’s not mad.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“He said he’s always hated that rug, anyway.” Taehyung shrugs, casting him an amused glance. “Said it didn’t tie the room together.”

 

Surprised laughter rockets out of his mouth at the joke and the pinpricks of light change color, going turquoise and red and warm shades of purple when Taehyung chuckles along with him. Jimin doesn’t feel like he’s drowning so much anymore, at least. Because if Jimin is good at making things look easy, Taehyung has always been really good at saving him. That might seem dramatic, but that’s exactly how it feels, and he doesn’t think he deserves that, either.

 

Pushing the thought away, Jimin pulls more magic from within, using it to paint a nebula amongst the cluster of dancing stars. Taehyung watches and occasionally sends a smoky ribbon of orange into the mix.

 

“Tae…”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Jimin breathes in, lets it out in a rush. “Why me?”

 

“Because you’re awesome?” Taehyung replies without hesitation.

 

“I’m serious.”

 

“So am I,” Taehyung laughs. Then he frowns and it’s so unsettling Jimin has to elbow him in the ribs to make it go away.

 

“But I dunno, man. I’m still learning, just like you,” Taehyung continues, swinging his legs. “And I might be old as fuck, but the universe loves to keep her secrets. There are things I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Like why artificial grape flavoring tastes nothing like actual grapes. What is  _ up _ with that? Talk about false advertising.”

 

Jimin isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to snort at that or not. With Taehyung it’s always hard to differentiate between sarcasm and sincerity, so he settles for patting him on the knee.

 

“What would you do if you were in my shoes, though?” he asks a moment later. He’s trying to process what all of this amounts to. “I don’t know Namjoon. Even saying his name feels weird.” Jimin drags a finger through the nebula and the delicate clouds disperse. “What if-- what if we hang out and he doesn’t like me?”

 

Taehyung gives him a wry look. “Pretty sure that’s not how soulmates work.”

 

“Shut up, I mean it.” Jimin sighs. “Why does being soulmates automatically mean we have to be crazy about each other?”

 

“Why don’t you call him and find out?”

 

“But--” His eyebrows knit together tightly, head full of a dimpled smile and that low, rhythmic voice. “How will I know if it’s real?”

 

“Don’t tell him,” Taehyung suggests. Jimin definitely snorts now.

 

“Lying to my soulmate right off the bat sounds like a great idea, thanks, Tae.”

 

Turning to face him fully, Taehyung’s large hands land heavily on his shoulders along with the weight of his gaze. This is sincerity. Jimin can tell, because his toes are curling and it’s always harder to hold.

 

“Just...meet up with him,” Taehyung says, gentle but also unyielding. “Grab coffee, whatever, just go and if it feels real, then it’s real. You can tell him later.”

 

Jimin swallows and stares down at the moss-covered ground. He doesn’t understand why this is a choice he has to make when there are more important things looming overhead. His next proficiency exam. Classwork he’s been neglecting, because sometimes he forgets that he has to be a normal twenty-something college student as well as a sorcerer.  _ Life is pretty strange in general. _ Jimin’s lips twitch into a tiny smile, remembering the hint of amusement in Namjoon’s voice when he said that.

 

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs.

 

Taehyung’s arm curls around him and his smile grows. The constellations flicker, winking in the gray afternoon light. It feels like it’s going to rain.


	3. but now you're here

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 4:52PM]  
** Hey

 

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 4:53PM]  
** Are you free tomorrow? We  
should meet up.

 

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 4:53PM]  
** Sorry. I know it’s been more  
than a week

 

**[Sent: May 23 5:01PM]  
** Hey, no worries. And yeah,  
totally. Totally free tomorrow

**  
[Sent: May 23 5:06PM]  
** Except for my Lit class, but  
that’s at like...the crack of  
dawn

**  
[Sent: May 23 5:06PM]  
** You don’t wanna meet at  
the crack of dawn, right?

 

Namjoon sets his phone down on top of his notes, leg jiggling under the table. He wasn’t actually sure he hadn’t been dreaming that day. Until now. Unless he’s still dreaming? Namjoon glances around the library packed with other students and thinks it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. He’s had way more boring dreams.

 

“Yoongi.” Namjoon picks up his pen and stares blankly at the textbook in front of him, eyes creeping towards his phone every five seconds. Yoongi grunts in acknowledgement. “You, um...you remember that kid on the bus I told you about?”

 

“Fox boy,” Yoongi intones, drawing out the ‘y’. “If I recall correctly, I also warned you about the dangers of taking hallucinogens on public transit.”

 

Frowning, Namjoon looks over at his friend.

 

“I wasn’t hallucinating.”

 

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks. He hasn’t even lifted his head--pencil moving across the page of his notebook without pause. Namjoon still has no idea how he does that.

 

“Yeah, he just texted me.”

 

“The kid or the fox?”

 

He rolls his eyes and kicks Yoongi’s foot. “The  _ kid _ .”

 

Yoongi finally stops writing long enough to make eye-contact, expressionless save for that soft glimmer of amusement Namjoon knows is always there even when he can’t always see it.

 

“You know I’m just fucking with you, right?” Yoongi asks, tone flat.

 

Namjoon slumps back in his chair, pen tapping rhythmically against thin paper. He shrugs.

 

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

 

“Moron,” Yoongi sighs, but the corner of his lips pulls into a smirk when he starts writing again. He wordlessly gives Namjoon’s foot a return kick and Namjoon smiles.

 

Then the smile falls right off his face, because he remembers what they were just talking about and the tapping picks up speed. He tears a hand through his hair, left leg resuming its bouncing.

 

“Anyway, he-- Jimin, he wants to meet up tomorrow.”

 

“The most adorable human you’ve ever seen,” Yoongi reminds him.

 

A nervous breath of laughter bleeds out of his mouth, cheeks already warming at the memory. Namjoon nods.

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t started whining yet.”

 

“Gimme a few minutes, I’m still processing,” he murmurs, and then Yoongi laughs, too.

 

Except his phone lights up before he can even think about having a meltdown. Namjoon’s stomach clenches and swoops and he grabs it off the table, almost dropping it in his haste to swipe the screen.

 

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 5:14PM]  
** Do you know the cafe  
across from the student  
center?

 

**[Sent: May 23 5:15PM]  
** If by “know” you mean  
practically live there

 

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 5:15PM]  
** I’ll be there around 4, is that  
okay?

 

**[Sent: May 23 5:16PM]  
** Cool, yeah. See you then   
:)

 

**Jimin (Literally Magic)  
** **[Sent: May 23 5:16PM]  
** :)

 

It takes a moment of staring at Jimin’s smiley face emoticon for Namjoon to realize that the reason Jimin knows the student center is because he is one. He drops his phone. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Holy  _ shit _ .”

 

All hopes of productivity promptly wither and die as Namjoon feels the world around him tilt strangely. It’s not really tilting. He knows that’s physically impossible. But if it could tilt, he imagines that now would the perfect time for it to do so.

 

“What?” Yoongi asks, completely unconcerned as he continues scribbling. Namjoon’s not surprised. He has epiphanies daily, exclaiming “holy shit” is kind of like breathing.

 

“He  _ goes _ here,” Namjoon answers, and even though the words just came out of his mouth, he’s still having trouble believing them.

 

“As in enrolled?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sparing him a glance, Yoongi lets out a quiet, thoughtful huff. “Small world.”

 

“Too small,” he adds, mind practically fizzing.

 

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? You’re gonna see him tomorrow, anyway.”

 

“I guess.” Namjoon sighs. “Maybe,” he amends. And then, “I don’t know, man.” The panic is definitely starting to set in. “It was different when it was an accident. This is on purpose.”

 

“Most things happen on purpose, dumbass,” Yoongi retorts.

 

Namjoon shakes his head and falls forward onto the table. “ _ He made a tiny fucking galaxy in the palm of his hand _ ,” he stresses way louder than he should have, wincing when it earns him a few glares, but he’s dedicated to making his point, because he really doesn’t think Yoongi gets it. “And I could  _ see it _ in his eyes. It didn’t just come out of nowhere, it came from  _ him _ .”

 

Yoongi gives him a dead-eyed stare.

 

“You and your disgusting crush need to sit the fuck down.”

 

“I’m already sitting down,” Namjoon points out.

 

Dropping his pencil, Yoongi slides both hands over his face and groans. “Did you know that I think about hitting you at least once every thirty seconds?” he asks through graphite smeared fingers.

 

“Yeah, but you haven’t.”

 

“And I regret it every single time,” Yoongi laments.

 

A grin tugs at Namjoon’s mouth.

 

“Okay, so he’s made of stardust and unicorn farts, so what? He’s still just a kid, right?” Yoongi continues, crossing his arms. He’s giving Namjoon his undivided attention, which means the joking has been temporarily set aside. “Don’t do that thing where you put him on a pedestal, Joon. Not until he deserves it.”

 

Namjoon always knows Yoongi’s being his sincerest self when the nicknames come out. He loves it as much as it makes his heart hurt.

 

“Pretty sure he deserves it,” Namjoon answers despite this. Yoongi snorts.

 

“You spent twenty minutes with him.”

 

“Believe me, that was enough.” He slumps back in the chair again, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt while his mind keeps fizzing--keeps repeating the weird wonderfulness of that afternoon and how Jimin seemed to come alive when Namjoon asked what else he could do. “I don’t know how to describe it, it’s--” Namjoon chews on his lip, thinking. There probably aren’t words for this, not really. He tries anyway. “It’s just a feeling. Y’know? Something about him already felt familiar even though we’d never met before.”

 

Yoongi ditches the sincerity in favor of squinting so hard his eyes disappear.

 

“If you tell me it was destiny, I’m walking out.”

 

Namjoon scoffs. “You’re not walking out, I’m buying you dinner.”

 

“Damnit,” Yoongi curses, then picks up one of his binders and reaches across the table to whack him upside the head.

 

“ _ Ow _ ! Fuck.”

 

“Just shut up for the next half hour and we’ll go. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Namjoon whines, rubbing his head and scowling at Yoongi’s skeptically quirked eyebrow. “I can totally shut up.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

He presses his lips flat; mimes pulling a zipper closed. Yoongi smiles. It’s a long-suffering smile and one that Namjoon categorized years ago. Because Yoongi has a smile for everything, even though most people don’t bother to look past the initial layers of small, grumpy asshole.

 

Letting his head loll back, he occupies himself by staring at the tin ceiling tiles and listening to the collective scratch of pencils on paper. He thinks about layers. Layers of speech, emotion, personality, clothes, meaning. Namjoon always wonders why it’s so hard to figure out if someone’s being real or if he’s just dealing with another one of their overlays. Of course, underneath the pretense is just more layers. He jiggles his leg and taps his pen against his thigh and remembers the way Jimin had smiled at him. Shy, but so so bright, like all that starlight was trying to burst free through every crack it could find.

 

Was that real? Namjoon wants to say yes. Wants to peel back Jimin’s timidity and see how vast that galaxy really is.

 

His mind fizzes. Pencils scratch. Yoongi sighs and Namjoon thinks about layers. Sound and color and the depth of Jimin’s dark brown eyes. Connection and coincidence. People. Magic, the world, and the universe.

 

Namjoon feels a nudge against his foot and he jerks upright. Yoongi’s already packed, bag slung across his chest.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He starts stuffing his books into his backpack. “What for?”

 

“You were a million miles away, I felt bad bringing you back,” Yoongi replies. Namjoon grins.

 

“It’s cool.”

 

And with a simple nod, Yoongi lets it go, because simple is what they’ve always been. Because there are layers, yeah, but they’re not complicated. Namjoon’s still grinning when he stands and they make their way out of the library. He wonders why there’s so much comfort in simplicity.

 

“Can we go to that diner by the dorms? I want pancakes.” 

 

“I can do pancakes.”

 

Yoongi’s lips twitch as he pushes through the front doors. “Sweet.”

 

“But you’re probably gonna have to make ramen for the rest of the week,” Namjoon adds, tracking the movement of his feet on the sun-dappled concrete. “Because I didn’t get enough hours at the bookstore and I won’t get my next paych--”

 

A solid force interrupts his stream of words when it slams into him, almost knocking him over. Namjoon’s hands immediately reach out to steady himself and meet warm shoulders.

 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. Are you okay? I wasn’t…looking...” the solid force trails off.

 

Namjoon blinks--and then grins so hard he can actually tell how far the dimples are worming holes into his cheeks.

 

“It’s you,” he says, shocked and yet not at the same time. More delighted than shocked, really. Joyful, even. Namjoon would definitely call the wobbly, nervous feeling in his stomach joyful instead of the precursor to nausea.

 

“Me,” Jimin nearly squeaks, eyes wide. 

 

His hand is clutching Namjoon’s elbow and they’re kind of stuck in the middle of a hug that hasn’t happened yet. He thinks about how nice it would be if it did happen. How nice it is that Jimin is literally in arms’ reach, looking adorably flustered and windswept with his dark hair falling every which way. The tingling is nice too, radiating up from his fingers, spreading along his arm, rippling over his scalp. It’s not as intense as the first time they shook hands, but he can still feel the energy coming off of Jimin in waves.

 

Jimin’s mouth opens and closes. Namjoon breathes in. Maybe he was wrong about the nausea.

 

“What the fuck, is it  _ snowing _ ?” Yoongi asks to his right, effectively destroying the moment.

 

He didn’t even notice the little flakes drifting past his vision.

 

“Shit.” Jimin winces and steps back, blushing. “Sorry. It happens sometimes. When I’m nervous.”

 

Namjoon studies the orange-blue sky dotted with white, tingly fingers flexing at his sides. If he was magic, he’d probably cause earthquakes every time he sneezed. The thought makes him chuckle.

 

“Could be worse, right?” he smiles.

 

“You should see what happens when I really panic,” Jimin huffs, shoving his hair away from his pink face. Namjoon forces himself not to stare.

 

Yoongi, on the other hand, just squints at the snowflakes like he’s never seen snow before in his life and lets each one melt in his outstretched palm. Around them, other students peer up at the cloudless sky, totally dumbfounded. And then it just stops--a few stray flakes sailing through the air and disappearing once they hit the pavement. Jimin looks like he wants said pavement to swallow him whole.

 

“Um, this is Yoongi, by the way,” Namjoon offers.

 

Flashing a brief smile, Jimin waves awkwardly. “Jimin.”

 

“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Yoongi drawls. He glances back and forth between the two of them, hands slipping into his pockets. Namjoon can see gears turning and that glimmer of dry amusement. “So, I’m gonna take a raincheck on dinner. I just remembered I have to go home and feed my pet rock,” he murmurs thoughtfully, nodding. “But you kids have fun now.”

 

In the quickest escape, possibly ever, Yoongi spins on his heel and takes off across the quad before Namjoon can protest.

 

“Pet rock?” Jimin asks.

 

“He’s not very subtle,” Namjoon answers. Jimin coughs out a laugh and he has to chew on his lip to keep from beaming like a lunatic.

 

Despite his best friend abandoning him, he’s still glad to be standing here in mildly uncomfortable silence with Jimin. Because the dying sunlight is gorgeous, the weather absurdly pleasant, and Namjoon enjoys happy accidents almost more than anything else. Anything else might be giving happy accidents a run for its money, though, if Jimin doesn’t stop stealing glances at him every few seconds.

 

He catches Jimin’s eye and they both bubble with laughter again. Then Namjoon realizes that something small and furry is missing from this scenario.

 

“Where’s Taehyung?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Jimin shrugs, playing with one of the straps on his bag. “He said something about official business, but I think he just ditched me to go hang out with his boyfriend.”

 

Namjoon’s eyebrow arches sharply. “Your fox has a boyfriend.”

 

“He’s not--” Jimin giggles and lifts a hand to cover his mouth. Namjoon dies a little inside. 

 

“He’s a shapeshifter,” Jimin continues. “Or a demon, technically, but that’s kind of misleading.” He smiles and regards Namjoon curiously. “You don’t know anything about magic, do you?”

 

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head. “Not really my area.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Poetry.”

 

Jimin snorts. “Of course it is.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Namjoon frowns.

 

“Nothing.” Jimin sighs. “Ignore me.”

 

“That’s kind of impossible,” he blurts, rubbing at the back of his neck, attention purposely directed elsewhere even though he can still see Jimin’s surprise from the corner of his eye. He breathes out another unsteady laugh and the words keep tumbling. “You know, I--” he falters. “I noticed you first.”

 

“What?”

 

“On the bus,” Namjoon explains. He tells himself he’s not stupid. “I saw you before the fur.”

 

Jimin’s face goes pink a second time. “Oh.”

 

He might not be stupid, but he’s actually kind of embarrassed. Flirting has never been his area, either. Do facts count as flirting? He doesn’t know. What he does know, is that he thinks Jimin is the most adorable human he’s ever seen, and although his heart is beating a mile a minute, he also knows an opportunity when it presents itself. He supposes he has Yoongi to thank for that.

 

Bravely, Namjoon makes eye-contact, grinning because he does that when he’s nervous and isn’t sure what else to do with his face. Jimin illuminates a little bit in response. His heart beats faster.

 

“So, um, I know we were supposed to meet up tomorrow and stuff, but if you’re not like, busy or whatever, maybe you wanna come with me?” he asks, skin prickling. “Dinner, I mean. Since I got ditched for a non-existent pet rock.”

 

The sound of Jimin’s tinkling amusement really doesn’t help in the staying alive department.

 

“I should be studying for a Biology test,” Jimin replies and then his smile grows, sweetly snuffing out Namjoon’s disappointment. “But I think it can wait.”

 

Relief and terror flood him simultaneously.

 

“Cool,” Namjoon exhales, pushing jittery fingers through his hair because this is really happening. “You like cheap diner food?”

 

“I love cheap diner food.”

 

His lips spasm. Jimin looks less afraid and more eager, than anything, and the rhythm of Namjoon’s heart defies description.

 

“I think you and I are gonna get along just fine,” he laugh-mumbles, convincing his legs to start moving. 

 

They cut across the quad together, the mutual uncomfortable silence only marginally less uncomfortable. He thinks of something to say instead of thinking about the fact that this is kind of a date. Isn’t it? It kind of is. Does that make things weird? Namjoon steals some glances himself, but all he sees is Jimin radiating quietly, a soft smile adorning his face. The face that he hasn’t been able to stop reconstructing from memory since they met on the bus more than a week ago.

 

Which reminds him...

 

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Did you guys ever figure out what was up with me being able to see Taehyung?”

 

Jimin clears his throat. “Not yet.”

 

Namjoon lets that marinate for a few seconds. Something doesn’t add up.

 

“Then why’d you wanna meet tomorrow?” he asks.

 

“I thought maybe we could hang out?” Jimin asks back, uncertainty in the knot between his brows.

 

“Oh.” Namjoon knows this feeling. It’s the proverbial rug being ripped out from under him. “Do you-- do you still wanna hang out?”

 

They’re waiting at a stoplight, arms barely grazing, that electric energy making goosebumps trail over his skin. Namjoon swears he’s either going to crawl out of his own damn body or grab Jimin’s hand. But then Jimin is smiling up at him again.

 

“I do.”

 

“Okay.” 

 

The light changes before he can think of anything better to say, the flow of pedestrians herding them across the street. The diner’s a block up. Namjoon’s mind is fizzing--magic, the world, the universe,  _ Jimin _ . He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and curls his fingers around Jimin’s arm, a jolt traveling up through the bone on contact.

 

“Actually, wait. I have a request?”

 

Jimin raises his eyebrows.

 

“Can you do that thing again?” Namjoon asks, hoping this isn’t a line he’s trampling. “On the bus, where you created the galaxy.”

 

Laughing louder than Namjoon has ever heard him laugh, Jimin nods, shoulders relaxing.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He watches, charmed by everything Jimin does. It was the same then and it’s the same now and when Jimin takes Namjoon’s free hand, his breath sticks in his throat.

 

“What--” he chokes on the word. “What are you doing?”

 

“We should probably move somewhere that isn’t on the corner of a major intersection.” Jimin tugs him away from the lines of evening traffic, that starlight twinkling behind his brown eyes, begging to come out and play.

 

They find a narrow alley just past the diner, sandwiched between a hardware store and a closed bakery. It smells like flour. Jimin huddles close and flashes him a brief smirk.

 

“Just keep your hand here.”

 

At this point, Namjoon feels like a conduit attached to the sun--more energy passing through him than he ever thought possible. He even senses when Jimin reaches down into himself to access his magic, drawing it up to the surface. Namjoon still can’t breathe. The rest of the world has completely fallen away. It’s just this. Jimin swirling his finger in the air above Namjoon’s palm, his other hand so very warm against Namjoon’s knuckles, cradling it in place.

 

Gradually, pinpricks of light begin to form, some brighter than others. Color, ribbons of nebulous smoke, teeny tiny planets. All of it from the brilliance of Jimin’s imagination. Namjoon’s heart legitimately hurts as the galaxy takes shape before him. As it hovers there in the palm of his own fucking hand.  _ Jesus. _

 

“You’re--” he swallows, forcing out a breathless huff of awe. “You’re seriously amazing. I just, um-- wanted to say that, because I didn’t get the chance to before.”

 

“Being able to do this doesn’t really make me special,” Jimin murmurs, threading another ribbon of color into the others.

 

Namjoon almost scoffs, because that’s bullshit. He may not know jack about magic--he may not really know anything, actually--but he’s never seen anything more incredible than this. Never felt anything more incredible than this, and that should freak him out a little bit. Except it doesn’t.

 

“I think it is,” Namjoon insists, hoping there’s enough conviction in his voice. Enough literal wonder to convince him. “I mean, you are,” he corrects himself. Because it’s true. They met just over a week ago, but that will always be true even if this is the last time they ever see each other. That’s just fact, with or without Namjoon’s input.

 

Jimin looks up at him. He finds infinity in the shy warmth of his eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Namjon gives him a lopsided smile. “You’re welcome.”

 

The galaxy shimmers and glows, its gentle magic passing through him. It tingles pleasantly. Like a sugar rush or endorphins or the feeling he gets when he loves the way two words sound strung together. The feeling he gets whenever Jimin’s skin meets his. Namjoon thinks that isn’t a coincidence.

 

“What do you say to splitting a stack of strawberry pancakes?”

 

“I say you must be psychic,” Jimin smiles and ducks his head. “Strawberry pancakes are my favorite.”

 

Namjoon’s stomach loops in on itself. He laughs and the galaxy pulses; bright, alive. Definitely not coincidence. 

 

In fact, he might even call it destiny.


End file.
